Mets Strategy: Healthyball

By

Brian Costa

Updated March 28, 2012 10:13 p.m. ET

PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla.—The future face of the Mets holds no illusions about invincibility. Eight years ago, Zack Wheeler's older brother, Adam, was a hard-throwing Yankees pitching prospect. A torn labrum sapped him of his strength, ending his career at age 21. Today, he works as a carpenter.

"I think that kind of stuff is hereditary," said Zack, the Mets' top prospect. "Since that happened, it sort of made me realize something could happen."

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Zack Wheeler
Benjamin Hager for the Wall Street Journal

That is, unless the Mets can prevent it.

Wheeler's quest to avoid the fate of his brother is indicative of what is perhaps the most important aspect of this season for the Mets: the development of their young arms. It will happen far from Citi Field, in minor-league stadiums from here to Buffalo. But it is arguably more significant than anything that will occur at the major-league level.

The Mets have three highly regarded pitching prospects in Wheeler, Matt Harvey, and Jeurys Familia. The team's plan to become something more than New York's favorite punching bag hinges on at least one or two of them emerging as stars. To do so, they must avoid becoming the latest additions to baseball's vast graveyard of pitchers whose dreams were dashed by torn muscles, tendons and ligaments.

"There's no way they can really progress unless they're healthy," said Paul DePodesta, the Mets' vice president of player development and amateur scouting. "It's almost part of the development. I don't really view them as separate issues."

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Every team is susceptible to the injuries that befall young pitchers. But the Mets are particularly ill-equipped to withstand them. Their return to relevance will not come through glitzy free-agent signings. It must begin with youth.

The Mets have not had a homegrown ace since Dwight Gooden. Just last year, a torn elbow ligament stunted the development of another top pitching prospect, Jenrry Mejia.

When asked how the health of the Mets' top pitching prospects this season could impact the course of the franchise, pitching coach Dan Warthen answered without hesitation. "It's paramount," he said.

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Fans used to stop them on the street.

Jason Isringhausen, Bill Pulsipher and Paul Wilson hadn't even reached the majors yet. But already, they were featured on a poster bearing their nickname, "Generation K." In 1995, the trio of Mets pitching prospects embodied hope. To the downtrodden faithful, that was all that mattered.

"They were so happy," Pulsipher said. "They thought the organization was headed in the right direction."

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Jeurys Familia
Associated Press

You know what came next: a litany of injuries that altered their careers and reduced them to a cautionary tale. The ailments ranged from the typical—torn elbow ligaments and shoulder cartilage —to the bizarre. In 1997, Isringhausen broke his wrist by punching a trashcan and accidentally stabbed himself in the leg opening a package with a knife.

Could the injuries have been prevented? Maybe not, Pulsipher said. But a few years after the three of them debuted, Mets officials convened to try to figure out why they broke down.

The numbers revealed a common thread: a rapid increase in workload. Isringhausen threw just over 90 innings in 1993, then threw more than 193 innings the following year. For Wilson, the jump was even more dramatic, from 49 innings in 1994 to 186 in 1995. Pulsipher logged just under 140 innings in 1993, then threw 201 in 1994.

"The big issue for young pitchers is how much is too much and how much is too little pitching," said Glenn Fleisig, research director at the American Sports Medical Institute and a leading authority on pitching injuries. "Almost every pitching injury comes from overuse."

With that recognition came the era of protection. At the end of the 1990s, teams were still treating young pitchers like Tupperware. A decade later, they were cradling them like crystal glasses.

Today, when a Mets pitcher begins his professional career, team officials put him on a multi-year plan to gradually increase his workload. The innings limits for Wheeler, Harvey and Familia are not etched in stone, but DePodesta said, "You're not going to see a 50- or 60-inning jump from any of those guys." The Mets also limit minor-league pitchers to 330 pitches per three starts.

It's a giant leap from the days of "Generation K." But after a decade of innings limits and pitch counts, teams have learned something else, too: It's not enough.

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Under a rising Florida sun, a dozen pitchers spread out along the left-field line. Half stand in foul territory. The others stand about 20 feet away, playing catch with their partners. Gradually, they back up, until they're throwing from center field to the foul line.

This is the drill known as long toss, a sight so routine it hardly raises an eyebrow, and it is at the center of a great debate within baseball. On one side are traditionalists who believe that pitchers should throw from no further than 120 feet apart. On the other side are a growing number of teams encouraging their pitchers to throw up to 200 feet and beyond, in an effort to build strength. They've seen the era of protection produce pitchers who get injured anyway and healthy ones who aren't as durable as they should be. And they're tired of it.

"A few years ago, Major League Baseball was being more cautious," Fleisig said. "Now, the pendulum has swung the other way. Now it's, 'We can't baby our guys too much or else they won't develop.'"

On the long-toss issue, the Mets are somewhere in between two extremes. They don't set an arbitrary distance limit. But they instruct pitchers to throw only as far as they can keep the ball on a straight line—typically in the range of 120 to 200 feet.

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Matt Harvey
Associated Press

Warthen cited an ASMI study that found that once pitchers begin throwing on an arc, their mechanics change. And most outside experts view improper mechanics as a far bigger problem than pitchers being overly coddled.

The study of biomechanics, the kinetic chain of events that occurs throughout a pitcher's body, has revealed potentially dangerous flaws in many pitchers' deliveries. And while the Mets haven't embraced biomechanical analysis in recent years, they are at least cognizant of its principles.

This spring, Warthen had Harvey alter the position of his landing foot to create a slightly more open delivery, which he believes will reduce the stress on his arm. But the primary purpose was to improve Harvey's command. Warthen is reluctant to suggest changes based solely on injury concerns, out of fear that a pitcher will lose what makes him effective.

"Are you going to give him four or five years in the big leagues getting people out, and go through some arm surgery?" Warthen said. "Or are you going to straighten him out and not give him a chance to pitch in the big leagues? That's kind of your catch-22."

With prospects, the task of finding the right balance falls to Ron Romanick, the Mets' new minor-league pitching coordinator. In more than a decade with the Oakland Athletics, he developed a reputation as a progressive thinker. Last year, ASMI invited him to speak at a seminar on pitching injuries.

The Mets, who are generally wary of injury-related publicity, forbid Romanick from commenting for this article. But Gil Patterson, who succeeded him as Oakland's minor-league pitching coordinator in 2008, said Romanick often challenged the conventional wisdom on throwing programs.

He also built his own devices—one involved a metal tube—to help pitchers learn proper mechanics. "He has a whole lot to offer," Patterson said.

Without getting into specifics, DePodesta said Romanick has already advocated some ideas the Mets hadn't considered before. But the question with his methods is the same one that hangs over long toss, biomechanics and everything else teams are experimenting with: Will any of it save their pitchers?

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Baseball Performance Center, located near Wheeler's suburban Atlanta home, is a sort of fitness boot camp for ballplayers. In the offseason, Wheeler works out there three days a week. He is joined by Atlanta Braves outfielder Jason Heyward and several minor-leaguers.

The drill sergeant is Rocky Thorn, who owns the 5,000-square foot facility. Every day, he assigns them rigorous and often unconventional exercises. One day they took turns bashing a 600-pound tire with a sledgehammer. Another day they pulled a weighted sled 100 feet across a parking lot.

This is how Wheeler attempts to prevent his body from breaking down. "His offseason is geared toward keeping him as healthy as we can," Thorn said.

Yet Wheeler still sprained his ankle in spring training. It was a minor injury, causing him to miss only one start. But it underscored the reality the Mets face.

They can limit pitchers' workloads. They can teach them proper mechanics. They can create the perfect throwing program. But all they can do is minimize the risk of injury. It will still be there in some form, lurking in the shadows, ever capable of altering the course of the franchise.

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